


Don't Stop Believing

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-22
Updated: 2007-09-22
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean's taking really good care of the Impala after his deal with the demon, but what about Sam?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This was written before "Would you like porn with that?" Which is the kinkier version of this one, which is schmoop, or something like that. Anyway, they are sister (or brother) pieces, not prequel and sequel. In other words, each stands alone. (And I call myself a writer...)

Don’t Stop Believing 

 

 

Two months in. 

 

Dean’s developed the habit of washing the Impala twice a week. He’s become meticulous about getting rid of the dirty fast-food wrappers and cola cans out of the back seat. He’s even bought a case of Amour-all to clean the inside of the car regularly. Something about this does not sit right with Sam.

 

Sam knows Dean loves his car, his baby. The Impala has been good to Dean, saving him from all sorts of ghouls and goblins, and once even saving Sam from a Woman in White. Yeah, the Impala is like a third member of the demon-hunting team. The Three Winchesters. And Sam hates it with a passion. Not the car. Sam has sense enough not to hate an inanimate object. He just hates how much Dean loves the damn car. More than Dean loves Sam, he’s sure of it. But, leave it to Sam to over-think things and ask questions that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to know the answer to.

 

One afternoon after a routine salt-and-burn, when both he and Dean have overslept and are feeling restless, Dean takes the Impala to a local carwash. He’s gone for three hours. 

 

Sam picks Dean’s return to the motel as the right time to broach the subject. “You love that car more than anyone. More than anybody in the world. Admit it.” Sam is treading on hallowed ground, and he knows it.

 

“Yeah, well, my baby’s been good to me,” Dean smirks. 

 

“Yeah, so admit it. You love that car more than anybody,” Sam continues cajoling. “You do. You love it soooo much. Admit it.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes wearily. “Sam, are you freakin’ serious, man?” Sam nods, mouth thin and drawn. Dean continues, “Are you high or just stupid? No, that’s not what I want to know. I wanna know why you are trying to pick a fight with me.”

 

Sam, still showing anger on his face, sits down on his bed facing Dean. “I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m just saying, you love your car more than anybody. Any person. And that’s pretty sick, don’t you think? Pretty abnormal.”

 

Dean laughs out loud, eyes shining. “No, Sammy, not any more abnormal than any other part of my life. And, for the record, I do not love my car more than everybody. Just most people. She’s predictable.”

 

“And you can control her,” Sam adds.

 

“Yeah, well,” Dean concedes, “Maybe that’s part of it. There’s so much out there we can’t control, so I guess maybe I like having control over something. It’s not love, Sammy, it’s just logic.”

 

Sam huffs and walks over to his laptop, returning to his research. For about five minutes.

 

“You are such a liar.” Sam begins his tirade again, “You are so not logical, you just have control issues. And you can control that car. You couldn’t stop Mom from dying, or Dad from dying, and you sure as hell can’t control me, so that stupid car is all you have left. That stupid car that you just love, that will never, ever love you back.”

 

Dean looks up at Sam without even a hint of anger, his eyes only filled with hurt. “Is that what you think, Sammy?”

 

Sam, still restless and angry, ignores as best he can his brother’s expression. “Yeah, that’s what I think.” 

 

Dean hangs his head, and then looks directly at Sam, his feelings now shrouded by a smirk. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sammy. Maybe you’re just tired, I don’t know. I may have control issues, maybe, but that car is certainly not at the center of my life, not my solution to failing…” Dean’s voice trails off.

 

Sam, still looking smug and angry, continues. “Yeah, well maybe it should be. You certainly haven’t failed her, I mean IT, now have you? Always kept it in good working condition, always putting your paws all over it. You know what? It’s actually quite disgusting, really. Just so you know.”

 

Dean, head lowered, smirk gone, simply says, “Yeah, ok, Sammy. Can we just drop it, ok?”

 

“No, Dean, we can’t just drop it,” Sam continues, high and mighty. “I won’t just drop it. I am just really, really tired of all the time you spend on that car. Three hours at the car wash, man. Three hours. What the hell were you doing to that car for three hours? You’ve never ever given me three hours of your undivided attention. Never. That’s really fucked up.”

 

Dean now has his head in his hands, hiding his face, not looking Sam in the eye. “Yeah, Sammy, you’re probably right. I haven’t. And I’m sorry. And I know you’re pissed and maybe I should just go for a while, ok?”

 

Dean stands, still hiding his face from Sam as best he can, and heads for the door.

 

Sam stops him in his tracks, ready to throw an insult or a punch or something at his brother, something to keep him here, in the room, in the fight, in this space they’re sharing, even if it is filled with anger. 

 

Then Sam sees Dean’s face. Stricken, sad, lonely, full of guilt and shame. Dean looks like a beaten man, and Sam hadn’t laid a hand on him.

 

“Oh, God, Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam all but whispers. “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.” Sam cups Dean’s face in his two large hands, asking forgiveness with the gesture.

 

Dean, barely able to continue standing, unable to hide his feelings from his brother, unable to get away, just hangs his head. “No, Sammy, you don’t have to be sorry. You’re right. I couldn’t save Mom and I couldn’t save Dad and I’ve done a half-fucked-up job of protecting you. So, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe the car is something I can’t totally fuck up. Like everything else. The one thing I’m good at, you know? Just the one thing…can’t you at least give me that?” 

 

Sam hangs on for dear life, hoping Dean will stop talking, hoping his heart won’t break, hoping his words didn’t do too much damage, just hoping to find the right words to fix this, just hoping for the air in the room to change, something.

 

Dean looks directly at Sam. Hiding the feelings, again. “Sammy, you can do anything, anything you want. You don’t need me anymore. That’s what this is about. You’re just afraid, and you shouldn’t be. You have all sorts of normal ahead of you. I did my job. Finally. I did. I did protect you, Sammy, and now you don’t need me anymore, and that’s fine. Because maybe I did do something right after all.”

 

“Dean,” Sam begins, “I’m so sorry…”

 

“No,” Dean stops him, “Don’t fucking be sorry, Sammy, just don’t. Don’t be sorry and don’t be mad and don’t feel anything for me, ok? Because that way I can leave and just let you go and you can go find some great life. Some life you deserve. You’ve always deserved. You were the best, the best brother. You were the best friend I’ve ever had. And, Sammy, all I have to leave you is the Impala. I know you probably don’t even want her, but she’s all I have.” 

 

“No,” Sam says clearly, again cupping Dean’s face, all but forcing his brother to look at him, “She is not all you have. You have me. Me. Your brother, your friend, your lover. Dean, you can’t leave. I won’t let you. And I’m bigger and younger and stronger than you are, so don’t make me kick your ass, ok?” Sam smiles weakly. Dean blinks sad, swollen eyes, smiling a sorrowful smile.

 

“I have to leave, Sammy. I won’t let them come for me with you nearby. I won’t put you in danger. I won’t let you watch them take me. I can’t.”

 

“You won’t have to,” Sam assures. “You won’t have to, Dean, we have 10 months, and I won’t give up. I won’t.”

 

Sam bends to kiss his brother softly, a kiss full of questions, forgiveness, understanding, and hope.

 

Their roles have shifted. Sam is now trying to protect Dean, trying to save him, trying to give him time, trying to give him a life. But Dean already had his life, all the life he’s ever dreamed of. All the life he’s ever deserved. Loving Sam was all he could do, all he had left.

 

As if reading his brother’s mind, Sam again faces Dean and takes a long breath, hoping against hope he can say everything he wants to say. “Dean,” he begins, “You are the only thing that matters to me. You. And I’m sorry for what I said, and for yelling at you about the car. I don’t care about the car…I mean, I do, because you do, and I care that sometimes you spend more time with it than you do with me. But, Dean, you are all that matters. Always have been. To me. I’ll fight for you. I promise. Just don’t walk out on me, ok? I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand to lose you like that.”

 

Dean nods, tears drying, smile sneaking its way onto his face, green eyes stark against reddening eyes. “You” is all he says…

 

Until they kiss. No leader, no follower, no savior, no martyr. Just lips against lips and tongues dancing together in a well-learned choreography. Just touches and whispers and words of want and need and don’t leave and stay and love you. 

 

Ten months left.

 

Knowledge like broken glass scraping at their minds. Skin the only relief, the only release from the death sentence. They make love like warriors, fighting time and fear and impending darkness. Bodies blending, melding, holding. Sweat and spit and tears and blood and come mixing into satiety. Two men incessant, insistent on loving each other. 

 

Afterwards, wordless lazy touches continue, fingers stroking and bodies still woven together. Knowledge like broken glass scraping at their hearts.

 

“It’s ok if you can’t,” Dean whispers, still stroking Sam’s body like a treasure. “It’s ok if you don’t find a way out. I made the deal. I’d do it again.” Dean looks his brother in the eyes, “You’ve already saved me, Sammy.”

 

Dean breaks down, now, no longer able to hide his sorrow, no longer able to contain his fear. Not fear of death, not fear of hell, fear of being anywhere without Sam. Fear of leaving Sam. Dean’s quiet sobs leave both men shaking. Sam encloses Dean even more tightly in his arms. Sam makes small noises, trying to comfort, apologize, and take all the dread away. But he feels hopeless; knowing he can never give back what Dean has given him. 

 

Dean didn’t give that demon his soul; he gave his soul to Sam. A long, long time ago. And Sam will be damned if he’ll ever give it up.

 

 

 

BJH

July 27, 2007


End file.
